


The Place

by Dim



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dim/pseuds/Dim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musicality didn't come naturally to himself or his family. Besides, most of their singing was done while drunk on mead and celebration. Athelstan could sing, though. When his sister was alive, she'd ask Athelstan to sing to her, prayers and chants he'd learned in the monastery, and though he pretended to be uninterested, he too found the monk's singing to be eerily beautiful. But once his sister passed, no one asked Athelstan to sing, and so he never did. </p>
<p>But she, like Athelstan, sang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Place

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this back in the middle of August (after Alexander Ludwig had been cast as an older Bjorn), and totally forgot about it until now and needed to get it off my hands. Therefore, considering when it was written, some of the things in this may not be consistent with the spoilers we've since received regarding the upcoming season.

She was a curious thing. Since she'd been brought to the village, brought back from the raids, she'd stayed with his family, performing petty tasks. She was quiet, speaking very little of their language. He would see her sometimes in the Great Room with Athelstan as he taught her words and phrases in Norse and conversed with her quietly in their shared mother tongue.

Winter that year had been particularly cold, and they all stayed burrowed in their home for weeks and a time as the snow piled around the village. With time she grew more comfortable with Lagertha, and his mother took her under her wing and taught her to weave and mend and cook. He’d watch them at the loom, talking lightly to one another, and once heard a rare laugh out of her. On one occasion he’d even seen Lagertha braid her hair by the fire, and he had to wonder if she was replacing his sister. He never asked. 

As intense as winter had been, spring came as quickly, melting the last of the snow within days. He relished spending his time outdoors, having spent so much time cooped up during winter, so he frequently went hunting in the woods on the outskirts of the village. It was on his way home from one of these excursions that he first discovered it.

Musicality didn't come naturally to himself or his family. Besides, most of their singing was done while drunk on mead and celebration. Athelstan could sing, though. When his sister was alive, she'd ask Athelstan to sing to her, prayers and chants he'd learned in the monastery, and though he pretended to be uninterested, he too found the monk's singing to be eerily beautiful. But once his sister passed, no one asked Athelstan to sing, and so he never did. 

But she, like Athelstan, sang.

He had accidentally discovered it while on his way home from hunting—the girl, humming softly to herself as she went about picking mushrooms and berries and herbs—and he had returned daily to the place ever since. It had gotten to the point where he had been able to create a routine; after his chores he would go to the place before she’d arrived, and would perch himself in the tree and wait for her and her singing. On the few days when he’d been late, he’d snake his way through the bushes when her back was turned, and would climb the tree as swiftly and quietly as he could. The only time he’d missed it was when he was in bed with a fever. When she laid a damp cloth over his warm forehead, he wished to ask her to sing to him. He didn’t.

When he first started watching her, she only hummed, a way to pass the time. However, as she grew more comfortable with her surroundings, so too did she gain the confidence to sing, murmuring the words softly to herself and smiling gently. He wondered if perhaps the song reminded her of home--her home, far from here-- and if that's why she smiled. One day she sang loudly enough for him to make out some of the words. He thought about asking Athelstan what they meant or if he knew the song, but he quickly decided against it; Athelstan would surely mention to her that he'd asked about it. It would be better to keep this secret to himself. 

However, good things never last. Summer was fast approaching, and with it the summer raids, so there was much to be done at home and around the village. He’d also soon be joining his father on a raid, and as he lay back in the tree he closed his eyes and relished in the unusually warm weather. Soon she came, and her singing today was louder than usual. He wondered if it was in response to the weather. He lay there for a few minutes, soaking in the warm air and her voice, but soon found he was distracted by a loud buzzing, and he opened his eyes to find a wasp. He tried to shoo it away, but it persisted, buzzing around him. When it landed on his forearm, he attempted to smack it with his palm, but instead lost his balance and fell out of the tree.

She stopped abruptly in her tracks and stared at him, a nervous look on her face. 

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, getting quickly to his feet. “I was just resting—busy day, you know?” 

She didn’t say anything in response, but continued to stand there still, like a hare that had just spotted a hunter.

He turned to leave, and after walking several feet he looked over his shoulder to her. She was still there, however, frozen in her spot, watching him carefully. 

\----------------------------------------------

He continued to return to the place every day, eagerly awaiting her. 

And while she too would still come, never would he hear her sing again.


End file.
